Destined

by Gail Cleare

  Mr. Paradis stepped back and waved his right arm vigorously, exclaiming in a very loud voice that could easily have been heard down the street.

  “Farewell! Adieu! Until tomorrow!”

  He closed the door and the latch snapped.

  I stared at the door feeling almost as though I had imagined the whole interlude. Then I noticed a small man wearing a white apron who stood with a broom in front of the Italian market across the street. He was looking over at me curiously. We made eye contact and he nodded his head very slightly in acknowledgment before returning to his task.

  I couldn’t wait until Lexi heard I already had a new job, and a promotion at that! My angry feelings came flooding back, with a large dose of I-told-you-so satisfaction. Take that, you creep, I thought.

  I sailed off down the sidewalk into the buzzing activity of the neighborhood with a fresh breeze blowing the hair back from my face, uplifted by the possibilities of my exciting new future.

  The Magician

  CREATIVE POWER

  Description: The adept stands before a table where various magical tools are arranged. Money (pentacles), the emotions (cups), communication (swords), and creativity (wands) are all in this bag of tricks.

  Meaning: Mastery of creative power. The creation of illusion to dazzle or manipulate others.

  At nine forty-five the next morning, I entered Sorrentino’s Market. Strolling through the aisles, I found it was actually a small grocery store with beautiful fruit and vegetables. There were a self-service coffee area and a glass case filled with Italian sausages and exotic cheeses. A huge pot of red sauce was simmering on the stove behind the deli counter. The man I had seen the previous day was standing behind the cash register.

  He had thinning silver hair and perfect, shiny pink skin on his completely unlined face. He stood with a bit of a hunch, but it was difficult to guess his age.

  “Good morning,” I tried to sound friendly. He nodded at me as he had the day before, and this time a little smile glimmered. His eyes showed intense interest.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and selected a lovely ripe pear. I rubbed it with a paper napkin and took a bite. It was absolutely fabulous.

  “Just this, for now,” I said, putting my money on the counter.

  He still did not speak and I thought perhaps his English was not so good. He did seem to understand me, though. His twinkling blue eyes spoke volumes.

  He made change and passed it to me.

  His lips opened.

  “You came yesterday,” he observed.

  His voice was low and had a slight Italian accent.

  “Yes.”

  “Over there, ‘cross the street,” he gestured.

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  He wiped his already-clean hands on the clean towel that hung at his waist.

  “You…are back,” he observed, and squinted at me inquiringly.

  “I am going to work there,” I confided. “Mr. Paradis has decided to reopen his shop. I am going to manage it for him,” I finished proudly, and waited for the welcome-fellow-merchant-to-the-neighborhood that was undoubtedly to follow.

  “Oh,” was all he said.

  He stood in silence, his curiosity apparently fulfilled. Or perhaps he had just run out of steam from all that talking. I felt disappointed and a little annoyed.

  “OK, well, got to go to work now!” I said, sidling toward the doorway.

  He continued to stare at me.

  “You tell him, good,” he said, raising his hand and pointing toward the “Books & Etc.” shop.

  “Good luck?” I asked.

  “Good…to open again!” He folded his hands together across his chest.

  “Good to reopen the store? I’ll tell him,” I smiled, sipping my coffee as I went out the door. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that the neighbors approve!”

  I waved cheerfully and left my taciturn new friend as two Asian women entered the store, talking loudly to each other in a language I did not understand. I crossed the street and made my way to number 33. It still appeared dark and deserted.

  We will change that soon enough, I thought. My knock on the door echoed. Nothing happened, so I repeated it. This time, the latch clacked and the door sprang open.

  “Here she is!” my new employer exclaimed, “Right on time! What did I tell you?”

  “Good day to you both, then, Henry,” said a second man, who was standing just inside. He stepped back and held the door wide as I entered. Dark and tall, probably in his late twenties, he nodded at me politely as I slipped past. I glimpsed a handsome face with a flashing smile and then he was gone, out the door and down the street.

  “Farewell, my friend!” called my employer, with a wave at his visitor.

  Mr. Paradis beckoned me inside and led me into the sitting room, chattering about paperwork and tax forms. We sat down and filled out various documents for the U.S. government. He seemed totally in control of all these details, I was relieved to note. I saw his full business name on one of the papers: Henry Paradis Imports, Inc.. Then he bundled everything into a folder and sat back in his chair.

  He took off his reading glasses and fixed me with his eye. “Well, Emily, have you decided where you want to start?”

  I was confounded. I had assumed I would be told. I rallied quickly, however.

  “Um, I thought, maybe, to dust and vacuum, you know. Then I will know more about the, er, merchandise?”

  “Very, very good. Excellent plan,” he said and stood up, grabbing his pile of papers. “I’ll be off then.” He rapidly headed across to the front hallway. “Getting myself out of the way,” he said, “Be right up here if you want me! Don’t hesitate to call if you have a question.” He pointed at the ceiling again, then he disappeared.

  So much for interfering bosses, I thought. That will obviously not be the problem here! I was back to doing the cleaning again, but this time I was actually eager to get started. I felt a burst of optimism.

  I left my jacket and bag on the coat rack in the corner and slowly entered the showroom. It looked dirty and jumbled, and for a moment I was daunted by the mountain of work ahead of me.

  Then I found a brass switch plate on the wall and I slowly pushed the buttons, one at a time. Three beautiful art deco chandeliers glowed, hanging from the faraway ceiling. They were gorgeous works of art radiating golden suffused light, very elegant and flattering.

  The jewel tones of the Oriental rugs looked warm and rich now. A sense of adventure and discovery began to percolate through me.

  Walking around the room looking for a closet, I made my way through the obstacle course of crates and boxes to pull back the heavy velvet curtains that covered the two big display windows.

  A flood of bright natural light poured into the room.

  The sun shone from behind the rooftops of the buildings across the street. This street, Crescent Street, was mostly residential and it looked relatively upscale. In fact, a black BMW was parked in front of our windows. Most of the buildings were red brick townhouses built around a century ago, with elegant pillars and steps leading up to three stories of prime living space.

  Eventually I found a big pantry closet in the kitchen. I stood inside it and rotated, awestruck. Here was every tool or broom or brush or solution anyone could ever possibly need, plus about two year’s worth of canned goods and dried foods. My new boss was quite a shopper. A vacuum cleaner with a long hose attachment squatted in the corner.

  Lugging my cleaning apparatus across the hall, I set to work. Inspired to make a clean slate in the space where I would spend the majority of my hours for who-knows-how-long, I cranked open the casement windows and propped open the back door to let in some fresh air. By the end of the day I was beginning to have a plan for the space. There was still a ton of work to do, but being here was oddly soothing, peaceful. In fact, it was actually fun.

  Before I went home that night, I burned a Native American smudge stick of dried sage that I found behind the counter.
The fragrant sacred smoke was supposed to purify the space as I moved clockwise around the room, following the printed instructions. The vibrations in the room felt cleansed and pure now, ready to accept whatever I chose to create.

  By the end of the week I had made serious progress. Everything had been dusted and polished and I knew exactly what was where. The glass cases were filled with wonders from around the globe. There was truly a gold mine here.

  Some of the merchandise was very unusual, like a wonderful carving made from a tree stump that hung over the front door. The trunk spread down from a peak like a triangular pointed wizard’s hat, revealing a man’s sly bearded face beneath carved out of the roots, which curled down and around in spiraled tendrils partly natural and partly contrived. It was very lifelike.

  The wizard watched as I feather dusted and slid the furniture from here, to there, and back again. Bringing my portable CD player into work with me, I played my favorite music, spinning across the polished wooden floor in my stocking feet. The besom broom that I found leaning against the wall in a corner made a good dancing partner.

  There was a cobra basket filled with hand bells like the ones belly dancers use, and small gourds filled with rice or beans. I shook the gourds and stomped my feet.

  I reorganized the energy of the place while I cleaned and designed the physical space. I exorcised the ghosts of old thoughts and old tales to make a new spirit flow here, my creation, my hope and dream.

  I was alone most of the day every day, but didn’t feel lonely. I didn’t think about Lexi or my unhappy past. The anger and hurt faded away as my new life came into focus. I was still nervous about making this all work but the more effort I put into it, the clearer my goals became. I was looking forward, as Mr. Paradis had recommended. I had opened my mind to change.

  I polished the espresso machine and cleaned the area behind the counter, where I found twenty-four small white cups and saucers with a set of little spoons that seemed to be solid silver. I found some silver polish in the pantry and soon they sparkled.

  I arranged a group of chairs and small tables with rugs to define the seating area. The faded fabric that lined the display windows was replaced with a rich purple felt. Signs made on my computer at home said, “Opening Soon!” and were propped up against wooden blocks so they could easily be seen from outside. People who walked by read them curiously and peered inside.

  I worked with very little direction from my employer, who spent most of his time upstairs in his private world. He seemed distracted and quite contented to leave me on my own. At the end of the first Saturday, he handed me a check for the agreed-upon amount, which cleared through my bank swiftly. I was thrilled and immersed in my job.

  The thumping noise I had heard that first day did not repeat itself, and there were no signs of anyone else living in the building. I did get the feeling that the shadows of people who had lived here in the past might still linger. In my mind’s eye, I saw women wearing silk and pearls, who sipped espresso and laughed as they sat around a small round table. A little boy dressed in knickers and a cap seemed to run by when I was unpacking a box of antique toys. I felt welcomed and cozy with these spirits surrounding me. There was a history of happiness here, and my future customers would feel it too.

  One afternoon I was bringing a tray of recently washed blue and white Chinese porcelain rice dishes from the kitchen. I heard my name called and thinking Mr. Paradis wanted me for something, I paused in the hallway to look up the back stairs. “Emily!” I heard it again.

  Just then one of the dishes jumped off the tray and sailed across the hallway, hitting the basement door and shattering into a million pieces.

  Thinking that I had somehow made this happen, I cursed my clumsiness and put the tray down on the stairs. A cold breeze blew in through back door, which was propped open. I shivered and turned to get the broom and dustpan from the pantry. There on the back porch was a young Chinese man dressed in black pants and tunic. I heard a giggle and he looked straight into my eyes, grinning. I realized then that his slippered feet hovered three or four inches above the floor. It made me feel quite uneasy as he looked very real, outlined by a faint shimmer of energy against the scene behind him, opaque and apparently three-dimensional.

  “Go!” I whispered urgently, flapping the dishtowel in my hand at him. When the towel passed right through him, he instantly disappeared. I caught my breath and blinked carefully. I was alone again.

  My hand shaking slightly, I closed the porch door and locked it. Then I got the broom and dustpan and swept up the broken china, feeling a little sick to my stomach. This kind of thing had happened before when I was lucid dreaming, but never in broad daylight when I was fully conscious. It made me quite uncomfortable, and I wondered who the man was and what he wanted with me. I worried that my new employer might not be too happy if he knew that his store manager was hallucinating on the job. Daydreaming about the building’s past inhabitants was one thing, but a full-body apparition was something else again.

  I picked up the tray and brought it into the showroom, stacking the rice bowls carefully in the china cabinet next to a matching tea set. Then I went about my business, relieved that the vision seemed to have passed. I vowed to try to stay alert and not to let my mind wander off.

  Sometimes this was difficult, since during those first days of discovery in the curio shop I spent my days in a perpetual state of bedazzlement. The showroom was a jewel box of delights. To the left of the street entrance there was a long horizontal glass case. In it was a wonderful bracelet of Italian cameos carved from volcanic lava stone which featured famous Renaissance painters, their names inscribed on the backs: Leonardo, Caravaggio, Botticelli, Donatello and Raphael. It was a collector’s dream. There were Egyptian scarabs carved from lapis lazuli and moonstones from India. Old canary diamonds were set in a platinum bow that held the miniature portrait of a matron long passed in its filigreed clasp.

  A relatively modern cash register stood at the end of the counter, plugged into the wall and apparently functioning properly. It was empty except for an old Tarot card, the Ace of Pentacles, and a yellowed scrap of paper which read, “1 Tuna, 1 RB horse w on’s.” I decided to leave these, for old times’ sake.

  I imagined the register clanging as each sale rang up and started to drift off again into a dream…until a noise brought me back to earth, and I realized my employer was coming down the stairs to make one of his infrequent appearances. Standing up straighter, I tried to look efficient.

  He appeared in the sitting room doorway wearing his habitual attire, a pair of baggy black sweat pants, black corduroy slippers and a long dark jacket with many pockets, worn over several layers of shirts in various shades of brown, gray and black. His shaggy white hair looked as though it had not been cut for several months, and was combed perhaps weekly.

  “Coming along, are we?” he inquired, pausing in the doorway.

  I smiled and nodded, proud of my accomplishment.

  “Everything all right, dear?” He looked at me sharply, seeming to tune in on something in the atmosphere.

  “Yes, everything is fine. Ready to finalize pricing and open the doors!” I was getting used to his mind reading and had grown to expect it. “You really have some wonderful things here, “ I said, “There’s nothing like it in town! And, about the Grand Opening…I’d like to send out invitations, to the neighbors that is. We could make a splash, score points with the local business community, and possibly get some newspaper coverage. What do you think?”

  “A grand idea!” He nodded with approval. “Very diplomatic. And, of course, we mustn’t forget to invite my loyal customers.”

  I wondered about this, having seen neither hide nor hair of any customers, except for the man who was leaving on that first day. I wondered when he would be back. There had been several telephone calls for Mr. Paradis, all from a man with a smooth baritone voice and a sexy foreign accent, possibly the same guy.

  Another mystery was the fact tha
t the only books I had found were two piles of used encyclopedias and hardcover novels starring Cherry Ames, the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew—who originally drove a “blue roadster,” I discovered. These were now arranged in a low bookcase in the children’s corner, near a huge puffy beige leather hassock and some colorful floor pillows.

  “You mean, “ I asked, “We should invite the rare book people?”

  He nodded, with a considering look on his face.

  “I do believe it’s time,” he said. He turned abruptly and flapped his arm, motioning for me to follow.

  “Come along upstairs,” he said. “You’d better get acquainted with the rest of our stock.”

  Holding onto the rail, he clambered up the long, curving staircase. I followed, somewhat skeptical yet hoping for at least a few literary surprises of a caliber similar to the treasures I had discovered below. I was very intrigued to see his private rooms, and this was the first time he had invited me up to the second floor.

  As we rose further up the stairs, a spacious landing appeared at its head. My employer continued down the upstairs hallway where an open door showed a glimpse of his study, located directly above the sitting room downstairs. He went past it to the closed door beyond.

  Mr. Paradis flung the door open and revealed a darkened room, which popped into focus when he reached inside and turned on the overhead lights. A million rectangles of every color of the rainbow met my amazed eyes. Stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, were thousands and thousands of books.

  He stepped aside in silence and I entered the room slowly, staring.

  Stretching on and on, from the front of the house to the back, fully as large as the shop room downstairs, were row after row of loaded bookshelves. The smell was musty, dusty and leathery. I filled my lungs with it, detecting a sweet hint of sandalwood or cedar.

  As I walked down the main corridor, he clicked on more overhead lights. Some were long fluorescent work lights, some were elegant antique ceiling fixtures, some merely bare spiral-shaped bulbs with pull-chains hanging down. Extension cords wove a spider’s web of wires overhead.